


Burning Bridges

by sufferingandsalty



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Background Character Death, Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, Depression, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Multi, Murder, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slurs, Teen Angst, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:31:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7796515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sufferingandsalty/pseuds/sufferingandsalty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all black and white. Never gray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am in no way trying to justify or make excuses about Bro abusing Dave. Bro could have done a thousand things differently in order to not fuck up monumentally. But here he is. EVERYTHING IS BROS FAULT.   
> So without further adieu this is how Bro Strider survived his life.

Your parents were as good as dead to you. They were the ones who brought you into this mess and they sure as hell never plan on getting you out of it. If it weren't for them dumping you like a cliche on the porch of an orphanage, you would be living a normal life. Instead, here you are rotting away on your way to yet another orphanage.

There was a crisp desert wind blowing tonight. It blew the dry sand into puffs that would swirl around for seconds before disappearing. It was one of those nights where families would gather around and grill at the trailer park with the stars above. Couples would secretly kiss in the bluffs. All things you will never be able to do since you can never stay in the same place for long.

At one point in your life, you managed to be put in your second foster home, but you royally fucked up that one too. You never realized how many times you switched locations until now. Even with how many times you switched, you could never shake the unnerving feeling of getting placed somewhere new.

Two foster homes and soon to be three orphanages. 

Black pavement stretches for miles with no end in sight. You pass a few more neon cacti that flicker in the dusk while the old car makes its way down the cracked road. You sigh, letting the smell of remaining smoke from your discarded cigarette sting your nose. Beaded necklaces sway against the rear view mirror as the driver adjusts it to look at you. You stare back at him with the biggest glare you could muster. You wince a bit, that glare just agitated your black eye once again. Turning, you continue to stare at the expanding desert before your sore eyes.

A single bag clunks against the roof of the car. "What did ya do to make them send you away this time kid?" The driver asks, attempting to make some conversation.

"I got into a fight with another orphan." You scoff at the thought. "Prick deserved it, though." You say in distaste while proceeding to stare at the early morning sky.

"How so?" You look away and stare at the photo hanging from the sun visor. Silence hangs in the air like the smoke from a freshly lit cigarette. 

"Would you really like me to get into that mess?"

He turns to look at you from behind his thick glasses that cover his eyebrows. Crumbs coat his unkempt mustache and beard combo. "It's another hour drive. I suppose ya start talkin'."

Boys only orphanages run on dominance and degradation. Those two concepts stand back to back picking off each runt of the litter until they find the perfect kid that can equally take hits and roll with the punches. It's not pretty, but that's just how it works. 

Displaying any dominance in a boys orphanage shows everyone that you don't fuck around. So when someone fucks with you, you just fuck em up even more. Its a simple concept really. First whittle the opponent down to a dull state, then strike him with insults and humiliate him. Simple. 

You've been considered degenerate by about every fucking person you've met in your life and this goddamn waste of a fucking human being wants to know how you got yourself here in this shitty car.

"Well saddle up cowboy because you're about to witness me climbing onto the back of the fuckin' buckin' bronco of life that just wants to sail me into the air. So kick off your goddamn boots and stay a while won't you? I promise no one ever gets hurt at the motherfucking rodeo. " You state blandly as if you had just eaten a stale cracker. 

"Just tell me the damn story already." He says sternly. The driver's eyes flick to the rearview mirror to look at you.

"Why don't you put some music on instead it'll save the both of us some breath."

"No way in hell, you're already losing air in your lungs as it is. A lil' more won't matter."

You pinch the bridge of your nose and tell him. "To make an unnecessarily long story short he stole my shit and I didn't like it."

"So you beat him up."

"I didn't start the fight." You never want to start the fight. That's another tip. Leave the igniting to the dumbass who's smoking at a gas station and just so happens to love littering. "I just finished the fight."

"You got kicked out for a fight."

"Yes and no. I've gotten in fights before but this time was the kicker. I broke his arm or some absolute bullshit. The orphanage didn't want to deal with damage control so they just shipped me off."

"Ya know where we're headin'?" He inquires once the car fills with an uncomfortable silence. 

"All I get are the facts to the case, I can't conclude the murder until I get an idea of a room, weapon or suspect."

"We're headin to the concrete jungle of Texas." You roll your shoulders and stretch out in the back of the car. You push some clutter around with your foot. The man takes a sip from his extra large drink laced with sweat. "Houston."

You stare at your bruising knuckles and your bitten nails, ridden with hangnails.

It was one hell of a car ride filled with silence until you got to the suburbs, where the sun was barely peaking over the horizon filled with identical houses and their deserted cars in the bare driveways. You can see the skyline break through dusk. The silhouettes of steel buildings tower over the rest of the city. Resulting the smaller buildings to look diminutive as fuck.

You're not quite sure if the world has ever had this much hatred for you before. Then again you are an orphan with a horrific track record. You can't entirely say this is your own doing but ripping away the power that life has over you is such a good feeling.

You're going to relish in it when you make it out of this orphanage alive and mostly in one piece. If you were going, to be honest, all you would need left of your body is two hands and two middle fingers. Maybe the rest are sawed off. You don't fucking care as long as you get the satisfaction of flipping off life and all of its dick moves.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a week since you first arrived at the orphanage in Houston. You have resented every second in this shitty garbage ridden city. This city was nothing like the last town you used to live in. Back then everyone knew each other, so word traveled fast when someone fucked up. And you, the brilliant genius you were, fucked up so many times that everyone in a ten-mile radius knew almost everything about you. Jesus, the rumors spread hella fast. Nascar would be jealous of how fast your notorious reputation was speeding past all the other cars. Soon enough people knew what your middle name was and practically had a list of all the bad shit you did in your life posted in the middle of the town.

Some days you were proud of all the things you did. Other days you resent yourself so much you used the money you stole off the founder of the orphanage to buy cigarettes. Long story short, today was one of the days when you hate yourself, your life, and the whole goddamn world. 

You do not give one shit about anyone anymore. Not saying that you gave a big dump in the first place.

This kind of attitude, of course, leads to many problems, you have realized over the years. And mostly the reason your cheek is stinging at the moment.

In the past, you have dealt with grueling chores that were honestly such a waste of time. After seventeen years you were sick of doing chores so you just up and walked out on it. 

The founder of this particular settlement had no real name to any of the other orphans. But she did have a nickname that fit her damn well. All she needed was a little name tag with "THE WARDEN" typed on it with some shitty 80s Halloween font. Maybe a little fake blood to add to the whole thing. Or maybe not. Blood was tacky...She could get an eyepatch and a tragic backstory to really wow the audience. 

The Warden was a woman of no bullshit. You pull a lot of bullshit frequently. Simply putting two and two together, you knew you two would not be a happy couple. That is to say, she wasn't bad looking. Bright red curly hair like a lion's mane and a smoking hot bod underneath the business suit she was wearing. Her nails were painted bright red, probably your blood from that nasty slap she gave you earlier for not doing your chores. You can imagine her doing worse things with those nails. You will yourself to not to let your teenage urges take over.

Okay, maybe just a few teenage urges.

Smoke spills out of her red lips. "Can I have a hit?"

"What?" Her nasty sneer breaks and a bewildered look overcomes her sharp features.

"Can I have a smoke?"

"No." She takes the brand new cigarette and mashes it into the ashtray on her cluttered desk. You wince. She barely even took a puff. She folds her hands under her chin and leans in. "Let's talk business."

"Lets." You scoff.

"You clearly have no interest in doing any chores at all." She runs a hand through her hair. 

You feel a smirk beginning to break your poker face. "You make kids do chores for you. So you can't possibly be fond of chores." Now she's clearly frustrated with the way you are acting. She thinks of you like a child. 

"Look I just don't want you starting shit." She sighs and taps her finger on the wood of her desk impatiently.

"No teenage rebellion? My plans have been discovered. Oh, what shall I do now." You roll your eyes from behind your shades.

"Knock it off." You slouch lower and stick your hands in the pockets of your jeans.

The Warden swivels around in her office chair to a gray file cabinet. She opens one of the drawers filing through the endless papers until she finds one she likes.

"This file has absolutely everything about you in it." 

"Oh, I'm sure it doesn't have exactly everything. There are a few things I can tell you if you would like." You give her a dirty look. "When I first grab my dick I like to twist to the left a little bit then I switch-"

"Enough!" She yells slamming her hands on the desk as she stands up. Papers fly out in every direction. You catch a few that come towards you. You flip one over and begin reading your file. She was right, it did have a lot of things about you in it. This was practically the list of all the shitty things you've done. The goddamn golden ticket of juvenility.

The Warden slumps down in her chair, pressing her palms into her eyes. "Look, I want you gone ASAP. So we can either work together here or not at all."

"I'm listening." You say coyly.

"From what I understand, you have five months left as a ward of the state. Then you become an adult and legally you have to leave this orphanage."

"Yes. That is what happens when I turn eighteen."

"Let's make these five months simple and easy."

"Done, but that means I have no chores."

"Fine. But whenever something needs to be fixed you fix it."

You think about it. Still not as bad as chores.

"Deal." She reaches her hand out and you grasp it firmly giving it a hard shake. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"I'll see if I can get you a summer job at the auto shop down the street."

When you glanced at your file you noticed that it did mention martial arts lessons and an extreme fondness for fixing technology. It was probably your best accomplishment other than stealing three hundred dollars from your first foster parents. Now that was fucking skill. There you go again thinking that shitty stuff you did was good. 

You were the one the staff would call down from your room to fix a damn TV from the sixties. The jobs would get increasingly harder as you grew older. Fixing circuit breakers and putting lights in the boiler room. It was nothing you couldn't handle and you absolutely loved it. It was a way to break free from the fucking system. 

Folding the slip of paper from the Warden, you step out of her office, and begin to think that this orphanage might not be as bad as you thought. With a summer job at the auto shop raking in cash you might be able to buy a place as soon as you get out of the states custody. Then you can live happily in a small apartment with a girl by your side as you watch tv and grow old together. 

Maybe that's asking for too much. At this point, you don't want to push it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm a lazy fucker


End file.
